The Outlaws Ernst Von Salomon

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Translated from German to English - [Link]

Ernst of Solomon

THE OUTLAWS

novel
THE DISPLACED

“Blood and knowledge must coincide in life.

Then spirit arises."

FRANZ SCHAUWECKER

confused
The sky over the city seemed redder than usual.
The light from the lone lanterns smashed against
the November fog, coloring the damp, saturated
air and making the clouds heavy and milky. Hardly
anyone was to be seen on the streets. From afar
came the long drawn-out sound of a trumpet,
tormented and reverberating. The pounding of
drums banged menacingly against the house
fronts, caught in dark courtyards and made the
closed windows tremble.
A group of twenty or so policemen stood
crowded at the main station. Their faces were very
pale, almost spongy, and their white-gloved hands
hung down heavily. The triangular cases of
ungainly pistols hung awkwardly from their brown
belts. They stood and waited. When my footsteps
echoed over the pavement, they turned their
heads and followed me with their eyes, otherwise
not an expression on their faces, a limb on their
bodies moved.
One of them had the ribbon of the Iron Cross
in the buttonhole of his blue tunic. He stood a few
paces in front of the crowd of others and seemed
to be listening intently for the trumpet blast. "Are
you going?" I asked him and stopped, and my
voice sounded hoarse. The policeman looked at
me with dull eyes. He stood motionless in front of
me, like a log; I had to throw my head back to look
at him. He fixed his weary eyes on the bare
buttons of my uniform, then looked into my face
in astonishment, suddenly put his huge hand on
my shoulder and said: "Go
You go home and take off your uniform." And to
me, who was accustomed to obeying orders, this
seemed like an order: I clicked my heels together
in alarm, as I would before an officer, and said
"No, no———" and after an unspeakably confused
while "No" again and left then, then ran away
almost blind and stumbling, through deserted
streets with sightless houses, across wide squares
on whose sides only scattered shadows scurried,
through the grounds where the leaves rustled on
the ground that I stumbled before the step of my
own feet jumped. Only the narrow lines of light
from encased lamps penetrated through
curtained windows. The shops had iron shutters
with compact locks across the wide expanses of
their windows. I ended up shivering in my room,

I was tormented by the silence in my room. I

had set up the things on the table that were
supposed to give me support. The picture of my
father, in uniform, taken when the war broke out,
the pictures of friends and relatives who had died
in the war, the sash, the crooked saber of a
hussar, the shoulder straps, the French steel
helmet, my brother’s wallet that had been shot
through — the blood was already whole darkened
and stained — my grandfather's epaulettes with
the heavy, now blackish silver tassels, a bundle of
letters from the field on foxed paper — but I
couldn't see it any more, all that. No, I couldn't see
it any more.
All of this was no longer valid. All this was part of
those victories when the flags hung from every
window. Now there were no more victories, now
the flags had lost their shining meaning. Well, in
that confused moment, when everything was in
ruins, the path that had been marked out for me
was buried, I stood incomprehensibly before the
new, before what was pressing ahead, without
having taken shape, without making a clear call to
ring out , without forcibly hammering a certainty
into my head, except that the world to which I was
attached, to which I did not need to confess, since
I was a part of it, now finally and irrevocably sank
into the dust and never again, never again would
arise.
I leaned out of my attic window. The water
clicked in the gutter below me. I saw the looming
black shadows of the houses, the wet, tattered
trees far below on the glittering asphalt. A putrid
mist rose from the street, climbed the gray stone,
streamed into every corner of the little room. The
candle went out. In the dark I threw the things
that were on the table into a drawer with a clatter.
I didn't sleep all night. I was at the mercy of the
dangerous silence, knowing only that I had to
stand up, to stand up to whatever the cost. For
what now offered itself out of the confusion could
only be conquered by the unwavering attitude
that I had to struggle for from now on.

When I came into the kitchen in the morning, I saw how

my mother separated the white armpits from my
coat. I couldn't face her, I drank the thin brown
broth and reached for the dark bread, I hastily cut
two soggy slices and sat chewing, eyes downcast.
Then I took the coat, climbed into my room and
sewed the armpits back on. I walked quietly,
carefully lifting my feet in the heavy, nailed, half-
calf cadet boots, down the stairs to the forecourt. I
buckled the belt over my coat, contrary to the
regulation that cadets should buckle under. The
bayonet, long, narrow, in an elegant leather
scabbard, was shiny and pointed, but not
sharpened. I pulled it out and looked at it
sheepishly.

Finally I went out into the street. As always, the

women stood in long rows in front of the shops.
They spoke animatedly to each other. Hands
clasped over stomach, bags and baskets on arm,
they sow after me with red-rimmed eyes out of
gray face. Many business people had not yet
opened their rooms. A small man with a careworn
face stood on a high ladder and carefully
unscrewed his purveyor's sign.
In the inner city I suddenly heard a loud noise
coming from a main street, which I immediately
decided to turn into. I felt how pale I was, I gritted
my teeth and said to myself, "Hold on!" and hissed
at me again: "Attitude!" and heard fragments of a
shrill song, heard screams from gathered throats,
sensed confusion and tumult. A huge flag was a
long train
carried forward, and the flag was red. Wet and
cloudy, it hung on a long pole and floated like a
bloody stain over the rapidly flocking crowd. I
stopped and saw.
Tired crowds rolled around following the
flag, stomping around in disorder. Women
marched at the head. They pushed forward in
wide skirts, the gray skin of their faces hanging in
folds over sharp bones. Hunger seemed to have
hollowed her out. Out of their dark, frayed shawls,
they sang a song with clattering voices, the
rhythm of which did not suit the hesitant
heaviness of their walk. The men, old and young,
soldiers and workers, and many petty bourgeois
in between, walked with dull, worn-out faces, in
which there was a gleam of dull determination,
and nothing more than that, fell into step again
and again, and then, as if caught, tried the Set feet
closer or further. Many carried their tin cans with
them, and behind the wet,

So they went, the fighters of the revolution.

So the glowing flame was supposed to leap out of
this blackish bustle, should the dream of blood
and barricades come true? Impossible to
capitulate to them. Scorn for their claim, which
knows no pride, no certainty of victory, no taming
waves. Laughter at their threat, for these marched
out of hunger, out of weariness, out of envy, and
under these signs
no one has won yet. Defiance at the danger, for
she wore a shapeless face, the face of the mass
that rolls mushy, ready to absorb into its silky
vortex everything that does not resist.

But I didn't want to fall into the whirlpool. I

stiffened and thought 'crags' and 'rabble' and
'mob' and 'rabble' and narrowed my eyes and
looked at these dull, emaciated figures; like rats, I
thought, dragging the dust of the gutter onto their
backs, they are, scurrying and gray with small, red-
rimmed eyes.
Suddenly there were sailors.
Sailors were there with huge red sashes; They
had rifles in their hands and smiling faces under
their ribboned caps and broad, elegant, jaunty
trousers around casually set legs. "Our blue boys!"
it flashed through my head and I thought, now the
disgust must rise up in my throat, but it wasn't the
disgust, it was fear. They had made the revolution,
those young blokes with the determined faces, the
rude lads who had linked girls and sang and
laughed and whooped and walked along, broad
and self-assured with bare necks and flapping ties.
A car roared up, sailors stood on the running
boards, crouched on the radiator, and the red
cloth fluttered, billowed out like a beacon. And
some were there, they looked cheeky, they
shouted hoarsely, they had twisted curls on their
foreheads, and the women screamed at them. And
they waved, where were they waving, to me? To
me?
 Then came the danger. Don't dodge, I thought,
for God's sake don't dodge! I reached for the
bayonet and remembered that it wasn't ground,
but I kept my hand on the grip and hunched my
shoulders and pulled my chin back.

In front of me, however, was a soldier without

a belt, with brown gaiters, a young man with
pince-nez and a briefcase, and he still had the
shoulder straps on his long coat. And towards him
they went, and one, an artilleryman, broad and
stocky, with high, chunky boots and with the red
cockade on his forage cap, shouted: "There's
another one!" and slammed his fist into the young
soldier's face and ripped off his shoulder straps,
left and right, so that he staggered, turned
around, pale, very pale, and stammered: "But why,
why?" And he hunched his head back, and the
pince-nez splintered, and the pale face turned fiery
red.
Those pigs, I thought, that gang, I couldn't think of
anything else; but then the artilleryman stood in front
of me and had small, malicious eyes and a dirty chin
and shaggy hair, and he raised his hands, red, broad,
hairy hands. I looked around quickly. Many people
suddenly stood in a circle, there were also women and
one with a round, bowler hat, and he raised the
umbrella towards me, and another laughed, many
laughed, but I only thought of the armpits. Everything
depended on the armpits, my honor — how
ridiculous, what was the point of the armpits? — it all
depended, and me
grabbed the bayonet. Then the fist planted itself in
my face.
At the moment everything was dull, eyes, nose
and chin, and the blood ran warm. Strike, I thought,
now there's only one thing: strike! I pushed, but the
artilleryman spat at me and laughed, and I had saliva
on my face, and a woman yelled, "You monkey, you
rascal, you trouser trumpeter," and a stick flew into
my neck and I fell. One kicked me, many kicked and
punched, I lay and kicked, kicked and kicked and
knew it was for nothing, but I was a cadet and they
didn't have the armpits. They all laughed and hooted
and slapped, and my eyes bled, and my nose bled,
and suddenly there was silence.

One came out of the Carlton Hotel, I saw him

with swollen eyes, an officer came, he was slim
and tall and wore blue hussar uniform and had his
cap askew and had patent-leather boots with silver
braid, and the EKI was stuck to his Attila and his
face the monocle. He slapped his boots with his
riding-crop and had a narrow, brown, square face,
came closer, cracked his whip, had impenetrable
eyes, and walked straight toward the pile. The
women were silent, the heap opened up, the man
with the bowler hat disappeared, the artilleryman
was gone, the tall, elegant, blue one bent down,
took my arm, I staggered to my feet and stood to
attention.
"Please stand comfortably," he said, he said: "I
was also a cadet, please come to my hotel." I went
along and wiped the blood from the
nose and said, "They didn't rip off my armpits."

Hope
At that time, I was just 16 years old and senior
second in the 7th company of the Royal Prussian
Main Cadet Institute, back then in the first eight
days after the outbreak of the revolution I had the
plan to dig out the sailors' headquarters. About
eighty sailors had made the revolution in the city,
they formed a People's Marine Division and sat in
the police headquarters. With a handful of
determined fellows, I thought, it must be possible
to render them harmless in one fell swoop. But it
had to be done quickly, for the city was still
seething, lost shots were still ringing in the streets,
no one knew how things would turn out. The
building of the "Volksstimme", the police
headquarters, the post office and the train station
had to be taken into our hands, then we were the
rulers of the city, until the soldiers from the front
returned. This could probably be accomplished
with a hundred armed men. It was just a matter of
collecting them.
There were more cadets in town, I went to see
them one by one. They had all dressed in the
strangest civilian clothes, they wore short trousers
from earlier boyhood or reworked field-grey
trousers and the blue Litewka with Schiller-
collar. With their uniform they seemed to have
given up all security of posture. Pale mothers were
afraid I would make their sons rash and the sons
stood by embarrassed and one cried and another
said he was glad the revolution had come and that
he didn't need to go back to the corps and that
Ludendorff was on to blame for everything, his
father had already said that, and in the mess hall
people only ever talked about horses, women and
drinking, and a third man, who stood by while his
mother complained, ran after me on the stairs
when I wanted to go and whispered hurriedly that
if I was up to anything I should let him know, but I
didn't want his mother to know.

Day after day I roamed the police headquarters,

yes, I ventured in, put up with the good-natured
mockery of the sailors, who admittedly did not
sense any danger in the shy cadet, although the
patent-leather belt still wore the crude bayonet. I
indignantly drew attention to two detectives I
knew who were sitting in their rooms and
continued to do their work undisturbed, about the
filthy business that was being carried out in the
rooms by the sailors, and they listened to me in a
friendly manner and smiled, and then one said,
they were just doing their duty as detectives and
they didn't care about the rest. And then I went to
see Major Behring, a friend of my father's, red-
faced, mustache and unfortunately unfit for
military service because of lumbago, and I let him
in on my plan, and he was thrilled
put in a sewer manhole. I wandered the streets, examining and rejecting in my mind hundreds of people I might

have sought out, and rousing my anger at the passing sailors with their red armbands and red paper flowers in

their cap bands, and long since ignored the many looks of the People for my uniform and the belt and the

cockades. The city was quiet, only short demonstration trains passed the train station; and once, at the head of the

train, stood a young officer, field gray, with a huge red sash, and that was the station commandant; he gave a

speech and declared that he was fully committed to the cause, to the sacred cause of the revolution. And I

wandered the streets, examining and rejecting in my mind hundreds of people I might have sought out, and

rousing my anger at the passing sailors with their red armbands and red paper flowers in their cap bands, and

long since ignored the many looks of the People for my uniform and the belt and the cockades. The city was quiet,

only short demonstration trains passed the train station; and once, at the head of the train, stood a young officer,

field gray, with a huge red sash, and that was the station commander; he gave a speech and declared that he was

fully committed to the cause, to the sacred cause of the revolution. And I wandered the streets, examining and

rejecting in my mind hundreds of people I might have sought out, and rousing my anger at the passing sailors

with their red armbands and red paper flowers in their cap bands, and long since ignored the many looks of the

People for my uniform and the belt and the cockades. The city was quiet, only short demonstration trains passed

the train station; and once, at the head of the train, stood a young officer, field gray, with a huge red sash, and that

was the station commander; he gave a speech and declared that he was fully committed to the cause, to the

sacred cause of the revolution. And and whetted my anger at the sailors patrolling past with their red armbands

and the red paper flowers in their cap bands, and for a long time I had stopped paying attention to the many looks

people gave to my uniform and the belt and the cockades. The city was quiet, only short demonstration trains

passed the train station; and once, at the head of the train, stood a young officer, field gray, with a huge red sash,

and that was the station commander; he gave a speech and declared that he was fully committed to the cause, to

the sacred cause of the revolution. And and whetted my anger at the sailors patrolling past with their red

armbands and the red paper flowers in their cap bands, and for a long time I had stopped paying attention to the

many looks people gave to my uniform and the belt and the cockades. The city was quiet, only short

demonstration trains passed the train station; and once, at the head of the train, stood a young officer, field gray,

with a huge red sash, and that was the station commandant; he gave a speech and declared that he was fully

committed to the cause, to the sacred cause of the revolution. And there stood at the head of the train a young

officer, field gray, with a huge red sash, and that was the station commander; he gave a speech and declared that

he was fully committed to the cause, to the sacred cause of the revolution. And there stood at the head of the train

a young officer, field gray, with a huge red sash, and that was the station commandant; he gave a speech and

declared that he was fully committed to the cause, to the sacred cause of the revolution. And
I greeted him, yes, I greeted him, I walked past and
greeted him as briskly as I could, my hand flitted to the
brim of my cap, I walked right past him and looked at him
as prescribed, and he saw me, and in the middle of the
word his was his mouth stood up and his hand went
halfway up and then hesitantly dropped again and his
face turned very red.
I found one who was willing to participate. "We
want to smoke out the gang of red pigs," he said,
and also had a revolver, which he showed me, and
perhaps that was the only thing that embarrassed
me at this unexpected willingness and the way of
expressing it, that it was my younger brother,
cadet and senior tertians. No one else was ready,
not the head teacher, who lived on the third floor,
and he trembled with anger just hearing the word
Social Democrat, but now he murmured that the
excitement of those days had made him quite ill;
not the painter next door, holder of the War Merit
Cross and board member of the Fleet Association,
who was painting a still life, strawberries on a
cabbage leaf, and said he had to live his work first;
not the cashier, purser off duty, he still went to his
office and had absolutely no time; not the father of
my friend with lung disease, a textile
manufacturer, who feared for his business, feared
the anger of his workers - and they were all right,
they all had that damned right for themselves, the
measured, wise consideration with which they met
every objection, every flared up to stifle
enthusiasm. And by dissolving the previous ones
Order, which happened at the same time as the
deepest and most secret desires and addictions
were released, through the loosening of all ties,
one distanced himself from the other and no
longer had to consider it necessary to anxiously
veil the actual content of his being. Yes, so they all
suddenly stood on their own and could only be
evaluated on their own, and any friendship
became impossible.
Since I couldn't collect people, I collected
weapons, and it was easy to collect weapons. In
almost every house there was at least one gun,
and my friends were glad that I carried the
dangerous tools out of the apartment for them. At
night I carried rifle after rifle, wrapped up and
tied, through the streets and was infinitely proud
when the weapons were piled up in my attic room.
Though I did not know what to do with this depot,
yet the knowledge of possessing those things
gave me the thrilling happiness of mastery of
deadly means, and surely it was the danger of
their possession that kept me in constant self-
respect and the moments of my justified
humiliating inaction.

The terms of the armistice were announced. I

stood in front of the newspaper building in the
middle of a large crowd. There were the wide
sheets with the loud headlines, and the gentleman
in front of me read half aloud and hesitantly, and
others crowded in, even one with a red bandage
on his arm. At first I couldn't see anything, but one
laughed excitedly and said that all that was nonsense, that couldn't
possibly be, and that Wilson would see to it that . And one said that
the French had already said and wanted that when the war broke
out; a woman yelled hoarsely: "But aren't the French coming this
far?" And then I stood in front and read. Bold and portly, the
headlines reported, and my first instinct was anger at the paper for
making these horrid, dry, laconic terms almost comfortable. But
then I felt as if the hunger, to which I thought I was already
accustomed, was tearing the walls of my stomach together. It got
up to my throat, filled my mouth with a putrid emptiness and
made my eyes flicker so that I could no longer see the people
crowded around me could see that I could see nothing at all except
the black of the letters, which were shoving one monstrosity after
the other into my brain with dreadful indifference. At first I didn't
understand. I had to force myself to understand. I thought I had to
laugh, I mumbled to myself with a dry throat, and the longer my
eyes darted over the lines, the harder the pressure in my throat
grew. In the end I only knew one thing, that the French would
come here, that the French would enter the city victorious. to
understand. I thought I had to laugh, I mumbled to myself with a
dry throat, and the longer my eyes darted over the lines, the
harder the pressure in my throat grew. In the end I only knew one
thing, that the French would come here, that the French would
enter the city victorious. to understand. I thought I had to laugh, I
mumbled to myself with a dry throat, and the longer my eyes
darted over the lines, the harder the pressure in my throat grew.
In the end I only knew one thing, that the French would come
here, that the French would enter the city victorious.

I turned to the man next to me and grabbed

his arm and only then saw that he was wearing a
red bandage and said anyway and the voice was
brittle: "The French are coming here," and he just
looked at the newspaper and his eyes had a fixed
gleam; and one said: "We must also hand over the
fleet"—and then they all spoke at once. But I ran
home and saw on the way that nothing had
changed, while it seemed to me that the city was
about to start screaming, like it was about to erupt
from every street. But there were only a few small
groups at the corners, street speakers raised their
voices with mighty gestures, and I heard when
soldiers and officers had received the same pay
and food... but there was still an old gentleman
who said we should go today but don't ask about
guilt and not-guilt, the people have to be united on
that, because the French are coming to the city.
But no one listened to him, and it was touching to
see the old gentleman addressing one by one and
talking to them, and after a few moments each one
turning away, apparently bored, and then the old
gentleman, sad and shaking his head, went on.
One of them, however, said and looked after him:
"One would soon like to say that it is better for the
French to be in the country than the Reds," and
then he got a fright and went away with a hastily
waved umbrella.

Of course, the cars were still racing through the

city, full of red-armed men, and I examined them
closely and saw strong, resolute figures, seized by the
intoxication of the fast drive, and I wondered whether
they also had the intoxication of a mad resistance to
the invasion of the French to be trusted. And I read
the placards, the red placards with the announcements of the Workers' and Soldiers' Council, and he sensed a dangerous,

enchanting energy behind the reverberating force of her expression, and a hot will behind the boastful announcements.

Yes, since it seemed to me that the feverish anticipation that characterized the city in the first days of the revolution was

giving way more and more to a dull resignation, I wished for excess and was almost startled by the satisfaction I felt when

It was said that the jails had been stormed and opened up, and that a fat guest at the Cafe Astoria, who dared to laugh at a

demonstration of war invalids, had been beaten half to death. The clothing depots were ransacked, and the sailors were

the leaders, and many young girls of the town, who were friends with the sailors suddenly wore makeshift, field-grey coats.

But little by little, instead of the daring sailor stripes, older men in black coats and stiff collars, with the red armband

emblazoned strangely enough on their sleeves, appeared in the streets, along with the pale soldiers of the offices, who

carried rifles instead of briefcases the muzzle in the dirt, as had become the custom; but what appeared with the sailors as

a bold sign of rebellion was with them only the expression of a secret fear of not being regarded as dangerous. The sailors

withdrew bitterly, they were no longer the heroes of the revolution, they felt betrayed and walked grimly past the security

guards, the guards everywhere suddenly wore makeshift, field-grey coats. But little by little, instead of the daring sailor

stripes, older men in black coats and stiff collars, with the red armband emblazoned strangely enough on their sleeves,

appeared in the streets, along with the pale soldiers of the offices, who carried rifles instead of briefcases the muzzle in the

dirt, as had become the custom; but what appeared with the sailors as a bold sign of rebellion was with them only the

expression of a secret fear of not being regarded as dangerous. The sailors withdrew bitterly, they were no longer the

heroes of the revolution, they felt betrayed and walked grimly past the security guards, the guards everywhere suddenly

wore makeshift, field-grey coats. But little by little, instead of the daring sailor stripes, older men in black coats and stiff

collars, with the red armband emblazoned strangely enough on their sleeves, appeared in the streets, along with the pale

soldiers of the offices, who carried rifles instead of briefcases the muzzle in the dirt, as had become the custom; but what

appeared with the sailors as a bold sign of rebellion was with them only the expression of a secret fear of not being

regarded as dangerous. The sailors withdrew bitterly, they were no longer the heroes of the revolution, they felt betrayed

and walked grimly past the security guards, the guards everywhere But little by little, instead of the daring sailor stripes,

older men in black coats and stiff collars, with the red armband emblazoned strangely enough on their sleeves, appeared

in the streets, along with the pale soldiers of the offices, who carried rifles instead of briefcases the muzzle in the dirt, as

had become the custom; but what appeared with the sailors as a bold sign of rebellion was with them only the expression

of a secret fear of not being regarded as dangerous. The sailors withdrew bitterly, they were no longer the heroes of the

revolution, they felt betrayed and walked grimly past the security guards, the guards everywhere But little by little, instead

of the daring sailor stripes, older men in black coats and stiff collars, with the red armband emblazoned strangely enough

on their sleeves, appeared in the streets, along with the pale soldiers of the offices, who carried rifles instead of briefcases

the muzzle in the dirt, as had become the custom; but what appeared with the sailors as a bold sign of rebellion was with them only the expression of a se
stood around importantly and followed the vagrant
sailors with small, coldly glittering eyes.
On one of the nights between those confused days, I dreamed of the French

invasion. Yes, I dreamed of it, although apart from the prisoners of war I had not yet

seen any French soldiers—and let it be said, as I dreamed them, I saw them later,

seventeen months later, when they actually occupied the city—and That's how I saw

them: They were suddenly in the city, in the dead, muffled city, lithe figures, gray-blue

like the twilight that hung between the houses, dull helmets over light faces, over

blond faces, and they walked quickly, the rifle on their shoulders and bayonets on

their rifles, they walked with springy knees, their cloaks opened in front of their

knees, and they pushed into the wide, empty squares, undeterred, as if a wire was

being pulled, and before them the mist receded, camped over the city, and it was as if

the pavement groaned, as if every step drove a sharp wedge into the tortured

ground, and it was as if the trees and the houses cowered before the jubilant threat of

victory, before the invincible, deadly intoxication of their march; Columns marched,

endless, precise, splendid columns, with flashes and sparkles and with gleaming

copper hubs on the guns' wheels; and like a scream rose the steep lights of their

glaring banners, like a scream rose above the roaring of the short, rattling steps the

clairons suddenly blared—where did I see that, where did I hear that, the march of

the regiment Sambre et as if the trees and the houses crouched before the jubilant

threat of victory, before the indomitable, deadly intoxication of their march; Columns

marched, endless, precise, splendid columns, with flashes and sparkles and with

gleaming copper hubs on the guns' wheels; and like a scream rose the steep lights of

their glaring banners, like a scream rose above the roaring of the short, rattling steps

the clairons suddenly blared—where did I see that, where did I hear that, the march

of the regiment Sambre et as if the trees and the houses crouched before the jubilant

threat of victory, before the indomitable, deadly intoxication of their march; Columns

marched, endless, precise, splendid columns, with flashes and sparkles and with

gleaming copper hubs on the guns' wheels; and like a scream rose the steep lights of

their glaring banners, like a scream rose above the roaring of the short, rattling steps

the clairons suddenly blared—where did I see that, where did I hear that, the march

of the regiment Sambre et

meuse? —, a wild, echoing, death-defying music,
which sent its shrill jubilation to the sky, chased it
into the hearts of the opponents, pressed it into
the stones — and before it there was flight, panic
and the nameless horror of the inescapable. The
scorn was immeasurable, the jubilation torturous,
the laughter of the victor, the ruler, unbearable, at
hunger, at need, at the whining, at the fluttering,
breaking, desperate resistance. And between
them came swift columns, small figures, slim,
agile, brownish, like cats; Tunisians, with pawed
steps and bared teeth, they meandered, sparkling,
sparkling eyes wandered, scent of the desert,
restlessness under the blazing hot sun, over
shimmering, white sand; in between, in fluttering,
shining cloaks, on tiny, tough horses, agile, skilful,
hissing blood, the Spahis; in between, black as the
plague, long legs, muscular, silky bodies, blank
faces, bulging, greedy nostrils, the Negroes! And
we, overrun, trampled, subdued: that must not be
with God! Unnamable force: and we are crushed
before her, we are trampled in the dust, devoid of
any claim, vanquished, desecrated, abandoned,
never to shine again...

"After this revolution the usurper will come," I

read in the newspaper, and the Generalanzeiger,
sure of his cause, referred to the example of the
French Revolution and Napoleon. I still had a
picture of the Corsican in my closet—it hadn't
hung in my locker since the outbreak of war. I
looked for the picture and got a fright
in front of that face. It was pale and spongy and I thought if you stuck a needle in it the skin would burst and it

should ooze whitish and greasy from the wound. But the eyes were dark and full of the most dangerous riddles

under the torn curl. Yes, Napoleon the usurper was from the revolution. That stormy look, hadn't it seen

everything collapsing, hadn't it tamed what threatened to foam apart, wasn't France and the world under the

direct threat of this look? If what was then created was new, it was new because behind this forehead the flickering

desires of the people for justice, for freedom, for bread, for fame and for love were concentrated in the whirlpools

of mad mockery , boiled down and transformed into flashing energies, because those compelling eyes sucked in

what lay on empty fields after the collapse of strength and movement, because that narrow, imperious mouth

formed words, this cold, glowing heart gave birth to plans that the seething Paris , which threw mangled France

into a single, compact nucleus that grew and grew and broke all boundaries, and should broke all boundaries.

With what flaming shudder I read of that Gallic, scorching, sober heroism that drove the ragged, starving,

marauding hordes against the invading armies, that scraped the saltpeter from the basement walls for powder,

that guillotined generals because she, contrary to orders, what after the collapse of strength and movement lay on

waste fields, because that narrow, imperious mouth formed words, that cold, ardent heart bred plans, which

seething Paris, mangled France hurled together into a single, compact nucleus that grew and grew and burst all

boundaries, and should burst all boundaries. With what flaming shudder I read of that Gallic, scorching, sober

heroism that drove the ragged, starving, marauding hordes against the invading armies, that scraped the saltpeter

from the basement walls for powder, that guillotined generals because she, contrary to orders, what after the

collapse of strength and movement lay on waste fields, because that narrow, imperious mouth formed words, that

cold, ardent heart bred plans, which seething Paris, mangled France hurled together into a single, compact

nucleus that grew and grew and burst all boundaries, and should burst all boundaries. With what flaming shudder

I read of that Gallic, scorching, sober heroism that drove the ragged, starving, marauding hordes against the

invading armies, that scraped the saltpeter from the basement walls for powder, that guillotined generals because

she, contrary to orders, mangled France hurled itself into a single, compact nucleus that grew and grew and broke

all borders, and should burst all borders. With what flaming shudder I read of that Gallic, scorching, sober heroism

that drove the ragged, starving, marauding hordes against the invading armies, that scraped the saltpeter from

the basement walls for powder, that guillotined generals because she, contrary to orders, mangled France hurled

itself into a single, compact nucleus that grew and grew and broke all borders, and should burst all borders. With

what flaming shudder I read of that Gallic, scorching, sober heroism that drove the ragged, starving, marauding

hordes against the invading armies, that scraped the saltpeter from the basement walls for powder, that

guillotined generals because she, contrary to orders,

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Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
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